The Dancer at the Gai-Moulin (14 page)

Maigret settled into his chair,
hesitated, as was his habit when about to launch into a long explanation, and sought
for the right tone: plain speaking.

‘You'll soon understand as
much as I do, and you'll be prepared to forgive me for cheating a little.
Let's start with Graphopoulos's visit to police headquarters in Paris,
asking for our protection. He doesn't explain why he wants it. And next day,
he behaves as if he regrets ever having applied to us.

‘The first explanation that might
occur to you is simply that the man's mad, or perhaps suffering from some kind
of persecution mania. The next one is that he knows he's in real danger, but
on second thoughts, he doesn't think he's really protected, even by the
police. The third theory is that he actually
needed
, for a short while, to
be under observation.

‘I'll explain. Here's
a man, not so young, in possession of a considerable fortune, and apparently quite
free in his movements. He can take a plane, a train, stay in any palace he likes.
What possible threat could scare him so much that he goes to the police? A jealous
woman who says she's going to kill him? Hardly. He could easily put plenty of
distance between them. A personal enemy? But a man like ours, with a banker for a
father, has the means
to get anyone
threatening him arrested. Not only is he frightened in Paris, he's frightened
on the train, and still frightened when he gets to Liège. From which I conclude that
it isn't an individual who is after him, but an organization, probably an
international one.

‘I repeat, he's rich. If
some gang were after his money, they wouldn't be threatening his life, and in
any case, he could quite effectively be protected from them by going to the
authorities. But he goes on being scared, even with a policeman at his heels. The
threat burdens him, and it exists in whichever town he goes to, in any
circumstances. Exactly as if he had belonged to some secret society and somehow
betrayed it, so that the members had passed judgement on him. Some kind of mafia,
for example. Or a spy ring. There are quite a few Greeks in espionage. The
intelligence people can tell us what Graphopoulos senior did during the last
war … Let's suppose that the son betrayed this kind of group, or
perhaps simply decided he had had enough and wanted out. He's threatened with
death. And he's informed that the sentence will be executed sooner or later.
He comes to see me, but next day, he's gathered that this won't help,
and he panics and starts acting as if he's lost control. But the opposite is
also possible.'

‘The opposite?' asked
Delvigne in surprise. He had been following the account closely. ‘I
don't understand.'

‘Graphopoulos is a rich
man's son. At a loose end. During his travels, he joins some kind of outfit,
let's say the mafia or a spy ring, as an amateur, just for kicks. He promises
to obey his chiefs faithfully. And one day, they order him to kill
someone—'

‘So he
goes to the police?'

‘Follow me closely. They order
him, for example, to come and kill someone here, in Liège. He's in Paris.
Nobody suspects him. He is reluctant to obey, and in order not to have to do it, he
goes to the police and asks for protection. He telephones his accomplices and says
it's impossible to carry out his orders, because the French police are on his
tracks. But the gang is not impressed by this, and tells him to go ahead anyway.
That's the other possible explanation. Either one of the theories is right, or
else our man is simply insane – but if that were the case, there'd be no
reason to kill him at all.'

‘It's disturbing,'
agreed Chief Inspector Delvigne, doubtfully.

‘So to sum up, when he leaves
Paris, he comes to Liège, either to kill someone or to be killed.'

Maigret's pipe crackled. He had
said all this in the most conversational tone.

‘And at the end of the day,
he's the one who gets killed, but that doesn't prove anything.
Let's look again at the events of that evening. He goes to the Gai-Moulin, and
spends the evening in the company of Adèle, the dancer. She says goodbye to him and
leaves the club in my company. When I return, the owner and Victor are leaving, too.
The club is empty, apparently. I believe that Graphopoulos has left, and go to look
for him in some other night spots.

‘At four in the morning, I get
back to the Hôtel Moderne. Before going to my room, I am curious to know whether my
Greek is back as well. I listen at the door and can hear no breathing. I open it,
and find him, fully dressed, at the
foot
of the bed, with his skull smashed in by some heavy implement. That, put as briefly
as possible, is my point of departure. His wallet has disappeared. And in the room
there's no document to give me any information, no weapon, no clue at
all.'

Maigret did not wait for his colleague
to intervene.

‘I spoke at the beginning about
the mafia and espionage, at any rate some kind of international organization, which
in my view would be the only explanation behind this case. It's the perfect
crime. The weapon has disappeared. There isn't any line of inquiry to follow,
or the slightest lead which might give a reasonable direction to the
investigation.

‘If the police investigation had
started with the Hôtel Moderne in the usual conditions, it would almost certainly
have run into the sands. The people who were capable of this would have taken
precautions. They would have foreseen everything. And because I'm sure
that's what they've done, I decide to confuse the issue. They left the
corpse in the hotel? Very well, I'll stuff it into a laundry basket and take
it to the Botanical Gardens, with the collusion of a cab driver who, between
ourselves, agreed to keep quiet for a hundred francs, which is really not a lot of
money.

‘And next day, that's where
the corpse is found. Imagine what the murderer is going to think! He'll be
extremely worried, won't he?

‘So isn't there a chance
that he'll panic and give himself away somehow? I decide to be so prudent that
I don't even identify myself to the local police. It wouldn't do for
anything to leak out. I was at the Gai-Moulin myself
that evening. It seems highly probable that the murderer
was there too. And I have the list of customers from that night, so I find out about
them all, starting with the two young lads, who had seemed very on edge. The number
of suspects is small: Jean Chabot, René Delfosse, Génaro, Adèle, Victor. And
perhaps, at an outside guess, one of the musicians or Joseph the other waiter. But I
decide I'd prefer to eliminate the boys from my list first. And just as
I'm trying to finish dealing with them, you take action. You arrest Chabot!
Delfosse runs away. And the papers announce that the crime was committed at the
Gai-Moulin.'

Maigret gave a deep sigh and shifted his
legs.

‘I thought I'd been
outwitted! I don't mind admitting it. Chabot seemed so certain that the corpse
had been inside the club a quarter of an hour after closing.'

‘But he did see it,'
Delvigne interrupted.

‘I beg your pardon! He
thought
he saw, by the light of a flickering match, lit for only a few
seconds, a shape lying on the floor. It's Delfosse who claims it was a dead
body. One eye open, one eye shut, as he said. But remember that both of them had
just emerged from the cellar where they'd been standing in the dark a long
while, and that both of them were scared stiff, it was their first real
burglary …

‘Delfosse was the brains behind
it. He dragged his friend along with him. But he was the first to panic when he saw
the body on the ground. He's an unhealthy boy, neurotic and vicious. In other
words, he has a lively imagination. He didn't touch the body! He didn't
even approach it! He
didn't strike
another match. The pair of them fled and didn't go near the till.

‘That's why I advised you to
look into what Graphopoulos had come back to the Gai-Moulin for, after pretending to
leave. This isn't a crime of passion, or a sordid crime, or an ordinary
burglary. It's exactly the kind of thing the police doesn't manage to
solve, most of the time, because we're up against people who are too clever
and well organized. And that's why I allowed myself to be arrested. Keep on
confusing the issue! Make the culprits think they're safe, that the police are
on the wrong track! And in that way, provoke them into making a mistake.'

Delvigne didn't know what to
think. He went on glaring at Maigret with resentment, and his face looked so comical
that the other man burst out laughing, and added in gruffly cordial voice:

‘Don't stare at me like
that! Yes, all right, I cheated! I didn't tell you at once all I knew. Or
rather I concealed something: the business with the laundry basket. But
there's one thing you've got and I don't have.'

‘What's that?'

‘Perhaps it's the most
crucial thing, just now. Which is why I've told you all this. The basket was
found in the Botanical Gardens. Graphopoulos had on him only his business card,
without an address. And yet by the same afternoon, you were already turning up at
the Gai-Moulin and you knew that Chabot and Delfosse had been hiding on the back
stairs. How did you know all that?'

This time, Delvigne smiled. It was his
turn to have the
upper hand. Instead of
answering at once, he lit his pipe slowly, brushing off the ash with his finger.

‘Naturally, I have my
informers,' he said.

And he took his time again, even feeling
the need to shift some of his papers.

‘I imagine you're well
supplied with them in Paris, too. In theory, all the nightclub owners act as my eyes
and ears. In return for which I overlook certain little irregularities.'

‘So it was Génaro?'

‘The very same!'

‘Génaro came and told you that
Graphopoulos had spent the evening at his club?'

‘Yes.'

‘And he discovered the cigarette
ends on the stairs?'

‘Well, it was Victor who told him
about that detail, and he asked me to come and have a look myself.'

Maigret was looking stormier by the
minute, as his colleague became more cheerful.

‘So you have to admit we were
quick off the mark,' Delvigne went on. ‘Chabot was arrested. And if it
hadn't been for Monsieur Delfosse intervening with the bail money, both boys
would still be under lock and key. If they haven't killed anyone, which
isn't yet confirmed, they certainly meant to rob the club.'

He looked at his companion and had
difficulty suppressing an ironic smile.

‘You look worried.'

‘Because it doesn't simplify
matters at all.'

‘What doesn't?'

‘Génaro coming forward.'

‘You had
him fingered as the murderer, admit it!'

‘No more than anyone else. And his
coming forward doesn't prove anything. At most, it shows he's very
confident.'

‘So, do you want to go back to
your prison?'

Maigret fiddled with a matchbox, taking
his time to reply. When he did, he seemed to be talking to himself.

‘Graphopoulos came to Liège to
kill or be killed.'

‘We don't know
that.'

And suddenly Maigret burst out
angrily:

‘Damn those kids!'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Those wretched boys,
they've spoiled everything. Unless …'

‘Unless?'

‘Oh nothing.'

And he stood up, fuming, paced round the
office where both men, smoking their pipes, had made the air unbreathable.

‘If the corpse had remained in the
hotel, and if we had been able to go through the usual procedures, perhaps
then—' Delvigne began.

Maigret looked at him furiously.

They were, in fact, both feeling equally
bad-tempered and their conversation reflected it. At the least word, they were ready
to trade insults, and were not far off blaming each other for the lack of success of
the investigation.

‘Haven't got some tobacco,
have you?'

Maigret said this in the same tone of
voice he would have used to say, ‘You're a fool!'

And he took the
pouch from his colleague's hands, tried in vain to suppress a grin, then
shrugged.

And Delvigne grinned back. They
understood each other. They were only maintaining their grumpy expressions for
appearances' sake.

The Belgian was the first to ask, in a
more friendly voice, admitting his perplexity.

‘But what are we going to do
now?'

‘All I know is that Graphopoulos
was killed …'

‘… in his hotel
room!'

That was the last dig.

‘Yes, in his hotel room. Whether
by Génaro, Victor, Adèle, or one of the two youngsters. None of them has the
slightest alibi. Génaro and Victor claim to have left each other at the corner of
Rue Haute-Sauvenière and gone home. Adèle says she went to bed alone. Chabot and
Delfosse ate mussels and chips—'

‘While you were running round the
other nightspots!'

‘And you were fast
asleep!'

They were now taking an almost jocular
tone with each other.

‘The only clue we have,'
Maigret muttered, ‘is that Graphopoulos allowed himself to be shut inside the
Gai-Moulin – to steal something or to kill someone. When he heard a noise, he played
dead, not imagining he'd really be dead an hour or so later.'

There came a hurried knock at the door.
As it opened an inspector announced:

‘Monsieur Chabot has come for a
word. He hopes he's not disturbing you.'